Results of a Genius and No Funding
by May a Chance
Summary: The FBI, low on funding, decides to enter an agent in the reality television show Survivor. Naturally they chose a profiler, adept at reading psychological clues to people's thoughts. Naturally, they chose the resident genius of the BAU. Or, in which the Director and Strauss argue and Reid gets slightly caught in the middle. Can be taken as a crack fic.
**Hey! Just a quick preview of a really bad idea that I couldn't get out of my head. Thus I wrote all I could and gave up when the writing started to go downhill. However, I am content with these 1596 words and thus here they are. I hope you enjoy!**

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There were two types of people that the FBI searched to recruit. The first was the intimidating people, who were well built and had faces that could be set to a dark scowl with ease; the second were the intelligent, with brains so large that the government couldn't risk them falling in with the wrong crowds. Theoretically speaking, the perfect recruit would be a scowling, cold faced person with a brain that could solve the most difficult codes the FBI had ever come upon. Of course, finding such a person was next to impossible. Those that _could_ fit the role didn't want to, and those that did want to were incapable of doing what was requested of the in the job.

And so, the FBI settled for those that they could recruit. There were the towering musclemen and musclewomen with above average intelligences who happily glowered at suspects during interrogations. There were the intelligent men and women who fiddled with pens as they worked codes and carefully picked out the most likely suspects for the more intimidating agents to interrogate.

The average agents had relative physical power and an above average intelligence. They were people who had excellent shots and sharp brains, who could bust down doors and make attempts at solving codes sent to them by their suspects.

It was rare for a genius to enter the FBI Academy with the intent to become an agent and not attempt to destroy the Academy and Bureau with scathing articles. Such recruits were rare, and thus when one came through it caused quite a stir.

Most recent amongst these highly intelligent recruits was Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid, a tall but slight and awkward young man. His IQ ("I don't believe that intelligence can be properly quantified. At best, the intelligence quotient is a flawed theory. However, I can read twenty-thousand words and minute and have an eidetic memory.") hung at one-hundred-eight-seven, the genius levels easily making up for his lack of physical prowess in comparison to most recruits.

Almost undoubtedly autistic, though never formally diagnosed, Dr. Reid possessed three PhD's in hard sciences and had spent the better part of his adult life as an agent with the Behavioural Analysis Unit.

Despite being awkward and not fully understanding social cues, Reid was well versed in psychology and the art of reading people. Behavioural science was an aspect that the young agent excelled at, and thus Reid became the youngest agent of the BAU.

Having been remediated at most physical aspects of the Academy, Reid was not what most looked for in a field agent but in the years since then, the young man had grown stronger and more powerful. Versed in a few different martial arts forms, Reid had grown into an excellent young agent.

Unfortunately for him, it also made him the perfect candidate for a particularly _interesting_ idea that the Bureau had come up with.

The Section Chief of the BAU, Erin Strauss, glared ferociously at the Director. "Sir, the BAU needs Dr. Reid here. He's one of our best agents!"

In response, the aging Director spread his hands in an attempt to soothe the hissing Section Chief. "Chief Strauss, you have to understand the position we're in here. We don't have enough funds to keep our jets in the air, and we indisputable need those to save lives."

"Surely there's another agent that you can pull into this!" Strauss' arms were crossed over her chest, hard eyes blazing against the Director's.

He struggled to find the right words. "This… what we are planning is a game of wits. It's all about reading people and sympathising with them. Dr. Reid is an intelligent young man well versed in the arts of reading people. He's intelligent enough to come up with an angle and strategy to get him to the end of the game. After that, it will take little to no work for him to convince people to join our cause. If he were one of your UnSubs, your agents would label him as a psychopath."

"He's an awkward, slightly traumatized young man with no hope of allying himself with _anyone_ outside of the Bureau."

The Director glowered at Strauss. "He's your agent, you're supposed to support him every way you can. I've done my reading; whilst Dr. Reid is awkward, he's also an excellent actor beyond capable of seeming totally normal."

"Dr. Reid hates people."

"On the contrary, he doesn't mind people at all. He minds those who see the physically weak as beneath themselves. He finds _people_ quite interesting."

"If you know my agent so well, go talk to him. You'll see. He's not the right one for this job."

Reid looked up as the scowling Director strode from Strauss' office. He winced slightly, wondering absently what the hissy Section Chief had said to upset the Director.

When the Director's gaze swept across the Bullpen, the agents all quieted; each one returned to their paperwork, all discussion pattering out. Reid could feel the cold gaze resting on his back and he shifted slightly, stealing a glance at his files. There were, again, more than there had been a half hour ago. With a roll of his eyes, Reid drawled a line of deductions onto the paper in his messy scrawl.

Years of writing out theorems had taught Reid to slow his hand's movements and focus more and creating the letters he wanted to create. Yet more years of practice and Reid had taught himself a simple calligraphy, the practiced motions the only way his hand could remember to write.

At twenty-six, Reid could write in the tidy hand quickly, the words still coming out as legible, if not as perfect as they could have been.

"Dr. Reid."

The auburn-haired man froze, slowly turning to look at the Director. He jerked his head towards Strauss' door and Reid gave a slight nod. Leaving his pen on the desk, he could feel every eye in the room resting on him. Wiping his face of emotion, Reid forced himself to relax, as though he was called to speak with the Director and his Section Chief every day of the week.

From behind him, someone hissed something to someone else. "What he do?"

As Reid followed the Director into Strauss' office, the tall man spoke. "I told you he's a good actor, Erin. If I didn't know everyone's terrified to talk to me, I'd say he's totally calm."

"Doesn't mean we're sending him off for a month!"

"More like three, at least," the Director replied. "The actual game is about a month, but returning to field-ready would take at least two months, probably more."

Awkwardly, Reid stood next to Director as he watched the exchange. "Excuse me," he gave a tiny wave. " _What_ game, exactly?"

"Survivor." Strauss spat the word like it was a curse and Reid tipped his head slightly. "Due to a lack of funds, we're planning on entering an agent into the reality game show Survivor. I'd rather you remained on the field, but whether or not you are entered is between yourself and the Director."

Shifting his attention to the doctor, the Director spoke again. "Please understand that we cannot force you to do anything. This is entirely your choice and, under no circumstances, will your decision effect your job at the Bureau."

"What would be required of me," Reid asked with a curious glimmer in his eyes. The game was an awful lot like chess, the same patterns being repeated time and time again. Despite the lack of a 'new game', so to speak, Reid found the show enjoyable and watched the seasons when he didn't have anything better to do.

"As far as we're concerned, the agent we enter can play the game in any way they wish to so long as they work to get to the end and win the million dollars. The agent entering must know that the money will be treated as a donation the Bureau in order to improve our work. If they win, they will receive a share of the money should they so wish it."

Reid considered this for a minute, weighing the pros and cons. Of course, there was always the chance that he'd be harmed but there was no chance of it being anywhere near as dangerous or painful as anything else that he'd ever done.

There was no chance that it would be near as painful as his swollen foot after Tobias, or the pain of knowing that he'd failed each time he pressed that tiny syringe into his arm and relaxed as the drug store heroin coursed through his veins, soothing away all of his troubles. It certainly wouldn't hurt as much as the burn in his lungs from the anthrax that had once ravished his prone form.

"Would I pass the physicals?" Reid asked in recollection of his slightly weakened immune system.

The Director nodded. "You're an active field agent. I guarantee that our health standards are stricter than that of some game show."

"Sir," Reid put forth hesitantly, "Are you sure that I'm the right person for this?"

Abruptly, the most powerful man in the FBI's face softened, reminding Reid of how Hotch looked at Jack. "Dr. Reid, I have seen thousands of agents and never before have I seen one as strong-willed and intelligent as you. If there is an agent that I would trust to bring in these funds, it would be you."

Reid ducked his head, unaccustomed to the praise. "Then I'll do it."


End file.
